Some Assembly Required
by Silver Flame Alchemist
Summary: They are always there for her. Good and bad times, early in the morning or late at night. It doesn't matter. If she shows up, they stop what they're doing (minus, you know, saving the world) and help her out. They're heroes. It's in the job description. - Drabbles Series - Trigger Warning -
1. Nightlight

_Remember in_ Captain Cherry _when Mizuki mentions a bunch of ish that goes down with the Avengers? This is the ish._

* * *

There were whispers darting about the gloomy workshop as she descended the steps and peered through the glass doors at what was going on inside. A soft, calm voice lowered the music that filled the background and announced her presence as the door swung open.

"Sir, you have a visitor."

A brunette head popped up over one work table, weaving a bit before the man it belonged to could find a clear line of sight and see who was standing at his door. "Hey!" He beamed at the girl, pulling the goggles he was wearing down around his neck. "What brings a girl like you to a dump like this?"

She laughed, picking her way across the cluttered workshop floor in order to perch on a stool that was sitting near him. She wondered, as she eyed the immaculate seat of it, if he hadn't known she would be coming.

"Curiosity?" She plopped onto the stool and smiled at him. "Can I just sit, or do you have some weird privacy policy that means I can't see what you're working on? I can cover my eyes!"

He laughed at that, winking. "Me? Private?" He snorted. "You can stay. You can even help, if you want."

The mechanic smiled less rakishly and slid back towards the engine he was currently working on. The car was his way of unwinding, his way of working through a problem to help him think. She looked the car over, curious of all the inner workings of it. It wasn't her area, she didn't know much about mechanics, even though she tinkered with other things, and the idea that this man could take apart a complex machine with only his eyes… "Something wrong with it?"

"Not really." He shrugged, cleaning away some excess oil with a rag. "Just felt like tuning it up."

"Can you show me?" She was hesitant, aware that she wasn't nearly as brilliant as him, although similar in other ways. "Or should I let you two have some alone time."

He laughed at that, beckoning her closer with a crooked finger and scooting over far enough to give her room to see. "Okay, so you know how an engine works, right?" He asked softly, giving her a look that told her it was alright if she didn't.

"There are little wheels in there with hamsters, right? They make the engine go?" She flashed him a smile, then, and earned herself a fond roll of his eyes and a laugh.

"Yes. Some people use hamsters. I prefer squirrels, but, you know. Some people have better taste than others." He chuckled and shook his head. "Okay, from the ground up, then. I can roll with that."

He started talking about a mile a minute, the way he often did, and pointing out certain parts of the engine. He realize, part way through talking about pistons, that he'd lost her, and he slowed down again as he noticed she was staring at the ring of light visible through his thin tank-top.

"Hey, no staring, you gotta pay for a show, you know."

She snapped back to the present, blushing at being caught, and let out a nervous laugh. "Sorry, it's just… I know how it works and I _still_ can't rap my head around it." She reached out a hand tentatively, stopping before her fingers ever found the hard ridge of metal through his shirt. "Sorry, I'll stop staring, it's rude."

"I don't mind you staring." He admitted with a little smile, the sort he reserved for moments like this, without cameras or adoring fans. "You stare for the right reasons, so it's okay." He took the hand she'd started to reach with, and put her palm flush against the mechanism in his chest. "No hamsters in there, though. Pity, that would be a cool excuse— I could say it's those little tiny ones, the pygmies. I'm gonna start doing that, just to freak out little kids. Seriously, imagine their faces if I said I had a pygmy hamster running my suit. Priceless."

She laughed, shaking her head at him, but kept her hand right where it was, barely picking up the thrum of the machine and the hum of his pulse under her hand. "It's really beautiful, actually… If beautiful is the right word…?"

"In reference to me, yes, beautiful does just fine." He supplied without missing a beat, winking at her once more. "But really, you should see it in the dark." She raised an eyebrow at him questioningly and he waggled his eyebrows at her. "I make one damn _fine_ nightlight."

* * *

 _I know I've said it before, but I have to say it again... I love writing for Tony.  
_

* * *

Mizuki Sakamoto _belongs to_ : Silver Flame Alchemist (aka Me)

The Avengers _and all related characters and locations_ _belong to:_ Marvel


	2. Patriot

_Steve deserves more recognition as an artist. It kills me that there aren't more fics about this._

* * *

Broad shoulders clad in blue, stomach and sides adorned in red and white, hips and legs once more in blue before boots encased his feet. Shield and smile both bright, eyes often found full of laughter, and voice equal parts gentle and commanding. A captain in title and carriage, a man of action and artistic qualities, a leader and patriot. A man out of time, out of character for the world he now inhabits. He protects as part of his nature, cares for those under his command. He leads and looks after his troops, makes plans that spare as many as possible.

She giggles as she stops studying him in time to see him put his pencil down and scratch the back of his head.

"Do I _have_ to show you?" He asked, sending her a shy smile as he glanced over the top of his sketchpad at her.

"You promised." She reminded him gently, trying to hide her glee.

He shook his head and chuckled, standing up and moving over to her. "Fine, but don't rip me apart too badly, okay?"

The face on the page was almost real enough to touch, the lines dancing over the paper in organized chaos, the portrait far more intricate than she had been expecting. Her smile was small, shy, and just a little mischievous. Her eyes were bright, even on the paper, and she marveled over the detail he had put into the _"little sketch"_.

"You made me too pretty." She managed at last, turning a bit pink when she realized he was waiting for a comment.

He took the sketchbook back, looking it over for a moment before he smiled softly, and shook his head. "No. I don't think that's possible."


	3. Fix You

_Because sometimes I lose it, and I need someone to help me find it again._

* * *

She was throwing things again; he could hear the clatter and crash of things being tossed about in the workshop as he clambered down the stairs in the early hours of the morning and tried to blink the sleep from his eyes. Thirty minutes, he'd been out, and then a gentle, disapproving voice had awoken him to say that a certain girl was wreaking havoc in his workshop. He was okay with that, actually, he knew she would avoid anything important on principle, and he was actually more concerned about why she was this angry than the fact that she was throwing a tantrum in _his_ workshop.

He dodged a piece of scrap metal and held up his hands peaceably, watching as she turned at the sound of another set of footsteps, her breathing hard and her eyes rimmed with tears.

"Hey, watch the face— it's all I've got goin for me anymore." He hoped she would take the comment as it was intended and laugh, but all he got in return was a weak sort of smile. _Well then_. "What's got you all riled up, anyway? I thought you were doing better."

Okay, bad wording on his part, but she didn't have anything else in her hand to lob his way, so maybe he'd be okay.

"Didn't mean to trash your place." She said in a rush, obviously trying not to cry for real. "Just sort of happened. I snapped. Sorry, I'll go."

She kicked a stool out of her way and grabbed her coat, making for the door before he moved to intercept her, grabbing her arms and holding her still.

"Whoa, whoa, who said you could leave? No, this is the part where you tell me what's wrong and I make silly comments until you stop throwing things that aren't parties." He gave her a slight, crooked grin and waited with a mildly-hammering heart to see if she'd slap him or not. She didn't, so he decided he was safe, and let her go. "Now c'mon, tell Uncle Tony what's wrong."

She glared at him for that, but didn't reply, instead collapsing right onto the floor, putting her head in her hands and sighing. He knew that sigh. It was the sigh of someone who was trying not to give up. He'd heard it from his own lips more times than he cared to remember, and hearing it come out of her was all sorts of not-okay.

"I came to see you, you were asleep, I came down here to tinker, burned myself by accident and sort of lost it. Sorry." She wasn't looking at him, her shoulders curled forward in a protective posture as she tried to reign in her emotions. She had a temper, he knew, but normally she kept it well within control. He'd really only see her snap once, and he had not wanted to be that punching bag.

"You could have woken me up." He sat down across from her, the floor of the workshop frigid under him, and he noticed for the first time that she wasn't wearing shoes.

Her toes were tie-died from the cold, and one of them looked an unhealthy shade of purple. Belatedly, he realized it was broken. He looked closer and saw the scratches on her arms, the smear of crimson in her hair, and the slow ooze of a deeper cut to her shoulder. She was self-destructing, and there was no way he was going to sit there and watch it happen. Un-un.

"In fact, you could have come and joined me. I'm a good comforter when I'm half-asleep. Or so I'm told."

She let out a snort of laughter at that, and looked up at him. There was a cut to her lip, crusted over now and not bleeding, a bruise on her cheek, and a few long scratches on her neck. "I didn't want to hurt you."

He knew that lie for what it was, but he let it slide because he knew where she had been heading when she showed up at his house at four in the morning. He got that way too, either violent, or violently drunk, and he didn't like to think of her in either situation. Yet here she was, shivering and bleeding on his workshop floor, a mess of a girl with nowhere else to go.

"Want me to call someone? Banner? Thor? Barton? Rogers? I could lend you a suit and you could have someone to spar with. I put up a pretty decent fight." He grinned in what he hoped was a cheery way. "Or I could let you ride around in one of my babies. I just tuned up a few of the engines; we could see how those squirrels hold up."

She laughed then, for real this time, and he felt the knot in his chest loosen. "It's not fair." She muttered, dipping her head again as her shoulders shook and she started to cry. "You always make me laugh, it's not _fair_. That's supposed to be my job."

"Since when it is _only_ your job, huh?" He asked, poking one of her not-broken toes with his own. "I can be just as much of a jester as you, you know, I'm just better at hiding it until it's needed. The rest of the time I'm just ruggedly handsome and perfectly sarcastic." She laughed again, and he smiled. "So c'mon, what do you need? Anything, skies the limit— actually, scratch that, I've been working on some new coatings that might let me get even past that. Don't tell anyone, though, it's super-top-secret. But really, what do you need?" He waited the span of about three heartbeats before he spoke again. "Okay, you gotta choose or I'm gonna start doing one of the things I do best and fix what's broken, so you gotta give me something."

"I don't know." She mumbled back, fingers digging into skin as she curled in further on herself. "I can't… I can't think straight, can't figure out what's going on."

He grabbed her hands before she could break the skin ( _again_ , he realized, as he saw the half-moon marks already on her arms) and stood up, dragging her to her feet. "Okay, here's what's gonna happen. I'm going to take you up to the kitchen, make you the best milkshake you've ever had, sit you down on the couch and watch stupidly funny things until Banner gets here and fixes you up, okay? Okay." He didn't wait for her to reply; he scooped her up and headed for the stairs, catching sight of the bruise on one wrist as she let it awkwardly lay on his shoulder. She'd broken that too. "What'd you do, punch Dummy, or something?"

She hid her face in his shoulder, shrugging. "Don't really remember…"

He felt the knot in his chest come back with a twisted vengeance, and he took a deep breath to keep his own anger in check. He would make this right. He would fix this. He would fix _her_.

* * *

 _Another thing that bothers me is the lack of comfort!fics involving Tony. Like. He fixes things literally all the time. He would try to fix people, too.  
_

 _Or is that just me?_


	4. Behind Closed Doors

_And immediately after the last fiasco, we have this one..._

* * *

"Why are all the doors missing?" The brunette was standing in the doorway, a cup of coffee in his hands and a confused look on his face. Four of his comrades were camped out in the living room, a fifth comrade, of another kind, was sitting with her back to him, her hair up in a ponytail and her fingers busy trying to button-mash fast enough to conquer Barton in a one-on-one battle between game characters.

The Captain and the doctor both looked at him, blinking slowly. They glanced at each other, at the pair doing epic battle on the X-box, the demi-god watching the match in fascination, and then looked back at him.

"Oh." He took a gulp of his coffee and moved to sit beside their archer, the girl flanked by both her opponent and the golden-haired demi-god. "So, who's winning?"

"Despite her continued insistence that she cannot do battle, she seems quite skilled…" The blond on her other side chuckled. "She has him two to one."

"Cannot do battle my—" Barton stopped short, snorting as she slew him ruthlessly yet again.

She grinned, throwing her hands into the air. "Yes! Who's next?"

The mechanic snatched up the remote from the man beside him before he could object, maneuvering the joysticks to select a new character. "C'mon, let's see what you've got, kid."

She laughed, getting up and stretching, instantly earning the attention of the men in the room as she moved around the edge of the sofa and off down the hall. "Got the munchies, be right back. No cheating while I'm gone!"

They waited until she'd disappeared from sight, and then the mechanic glanced around the room. "Seriously, why are all the doors missing?"

"She asked us to get rid of them." The Captain supplied, dutifully scratching away at a sketchbook. He gave the mechanic a significant look, and his eyebrows skyrocketed.

" _Oh_." He looked around the room, and was met with the same, sober expression on all their faces. "That bad, huh?"

"I believe she is merely troubled." The demi-god supplied softly. "She will be well again after a few more rounds." He nodded towards the TV and smiled.

The mechanic turned when he heard the girl humming as she moved back down the hallway towards them. "I'll be sure to go easy on her, then… Can't have our little princess slipping from her throne."


	5. Doctor's Orders

_And then there's the week from hell and no one feels good afterwards. XD_

* * *

She'd been banged up before, usually from a fight or fall, but this— this was different.

He said nothing as he worked, bandaging her cuts and peering curiously at her bruises, glasses perched part-way down his nose. His hands worked gently, never pulling or pushing too hard. He let his fingers smooth over her skin whenever possible, watching the way her eyes followed the movements and the small smile graced her lips whenever he finished a bandage.

She said nothing, her glasses missing and her cheekbone bruised lightly. She looked like she'd gotten into a fight in a bar, or an alley, but he knew that wasn't the case.

The machinery she was hooked up to filled the silence, beeping rhythmically to indicate her heart was still beating. Tubes ran to her arms, the solution part pain-killer, part relaxant. She didn't look at him, not directly, and he didn't look her in the eye either.

Finally, he sat back, taking off his glasses and putting them in his pocket. "Anything you want to say?"

"You're not that sort of doctor, remember?" She replied without missing a beat, examining the bandages on her wrists. "I'll be fine, Bruce."

The use of his first name made him sigh softly, knowing that even though she _was_ physically fine, there was something less alright with her spirit. "I know you will be. You're that kind of girl. But that's not what I was asking." He smiled at her, soft and slow, and raised his eyebrows expectantly.

She looked up then, smiling slightly. "Thank you, doctor, for always fixing me up again."

He bit back a retort; a demand that she stop _needing_ for him to fix her up— that she stop allowing herself to be hurt, to be cut, to be bruised. He shoved all that anger down and swallowed it, because that was a _different_ brunette's job.

"You're welcome. Now, sit back, relax, and do nothing for the rest of the day. Doctor's orders."

She dipped her head, sliding further down into the bed. "Absolutely nothing? Cause I have this one level on a game I'm trying to beat…"

He chuckled, moving his chair in order to sit next to her properly. "Nothing but that then, alright?"

She laughed. "Alright."


	6. Tango Brilliante

_I mean, who_ wouldn't _want to have a dance with at least one of the Avengers?_

* * *

Green eyes glances around the room as the redhead edged towards the dance floor, feeling out of place among all the other guests crowded into the room. She was all dressed up, hair in twist that made her look older than she was, dodging glances because she didn't want to have anyone ask her to dance. It was bad enough that people kept offering her champagne, but to be asked to dance at a charity even _here_ …

The music changed, the tempo picking up from the previous, docile tone, to one she recognized. She nearly dropped her glass as couples began forming, leading one another out onto the floor for the dance.

Someone took her glass from her, as another caught her by the elbow and led her out onto the dance floor, a smirk plastered on his lips as he turned to face her, winking.

"May I have this dance?"

Heat flooded her cheeks, gaze dipping down over his tuxedo and then hurrying back up to look him in the eye, her lips parting without any sound slipping past them.

He took a half-step closer, taking her right hand in his left and holding it loosely. His right hand slipped around her waist, pulling her closer, and he chuckled.

"May I take your silence as a yes?"

"I can't tango!" She bit out, heart hammering in her chest. "I don't even know how, let alone practiced it!"

She glanced about the room, watching the other couples begin, and knew where this would end up— With her making a fool of herself in front of a thousand and four people, several of which she knew personally.

"Clint, I can't—"

"Trust me." He smiled gently, taking the first step, and she hurried to follow after him. He moved slowly, gracefully, and she struggled along as best she could.

She slowly got the hang of it, and when he spun her out and then back to him, she managed it without a single hitch. He was being careful, she knew, because this wasn't her forte. She hid in her room and made worlds come alive; she didn't perform tricks for other people's amusement. And for him to be the one showing her how it was done surprised her, as he often disliked the public as much or more than she did.

She lost herself in the music easily, having always had a fondness for classics, and when he finally led her into a smooth, easy dip, the way all tangos were meant to end, she merely laughed and went along with it. He pulled her back up, spun her around once more, and then kissed the back of her hand before he wrapped her arm around his own and led her off the dance floor.

Her face still felt flushed, even after downing the contents of her newly-retrieved glass, so she asked the only question that seemed to make sense at the moment. "Where on earth did you learn to dance like that?"

Her escort arched an eyebrow at her, grinning. "Budapest."

* * *

 _I absolutely believe that Budapest was a full-on 007 kind of job, with spy gear, exploding pens, femme fatals, and obligatory tango sequences._

 _Just sayin'._


	7. Birds of a Feather

_Clint Barton is my Spirit Hero._

* * *

He was curled up in a ball, covered by a thick, fuzzy black blanket, his perch on the highest point of the house. The chair he was occupying was big enough to accommodate the man, his boots perched by the chair along with a black case that housed his weapon. His slumber was not deep, his mind ready to snap back to attention should it need to.

The girl paused on the topmost step, blinking at the figure in the chair. She debated with herself over what to do, not wanting to disturb the archer in his slumber, nor slip back into the rest of the house and be alone.

"You're hovering." One eye had cracked open to look at her, the eyebrow above it arched. "What's up, fledgling?" He shifted about, getting comfortable once more before he beckoned her closer. "Something on your mind?"

"Just wanted to check on you." She shrugged; a hint of pink on her cheeks from the pet name. "Make sure you were alright up here in your nest…"

He chuckled, both eyes blinking open to look at her. "You sure that's why you're here? There's no other nefarious motive behind it, like, say, not wanting to be alone yourself."

She took the last step up into his domain and shrugged, clasping her hands behind her back.

"Well. Maybe." She scuffed her shoe and glanced up at him. "I wanted to see what your nest was like."

He laughed, straightening up in the chair and glancing around the room. "Well, do you like it?" He asked, expression bordering on smug. "Or do I need to decorate said nest with more ribbons and shiny things?"

She glanced around as well, taking a stroll around the interior of the room, inspecting the walls as she moved slowly around the space, soaking it up.

"Hmm… No, I like it the way it is." She said finally, stopping beside his chair and perching carefully on the arm.

"You should come up here more often, then." He suggested, grinning brightly. "A nest like this can get lonely without someone to share it with every now and then." He paused for a moment before he winked up at her. "Birds of a feather need to flock together, after all."


	8. Bound for Life

_I had one of my friends send me one of those "Birthday Scenario" things, where your birth month and day decide what happens to you and with whom... And I got "Bound for Life" to Thor. Not really complaining, though._

* * *

"I cannot _believe_ you ended up in this position…" The brunette rolled his eyes, sighing at the girl who was seated next to him. "Honestly, I turn my back on you for a few seconds and _wham!_ you get shackled up to some alien tech!"

"It's not my fault!" The girl replied, growling softly as she glared at the ornate bracelet on her wrist. "It's not like I _planned_ to get pegged by it… It just fell from the sky!"

"Onto you." The brunette watched where another of his teammates was scanning the bracelet, hands steady as they held the sensor. "Man, you just have all the luck, don't you?"

She smacked him with her free hand, glaring at him this time.

"It really isn't her fault." The doctor was peering at the screen from behind his glasses, expression composed despite his earlier less-than-calm reaction. "Alien tech always does… Unexpected things." He commented dryly. The girl giggled, watching him set the sensor down and turn it off, sitting back from the computer with a sigh. "Well, I still don't know what it does, but at least I know it's not hurting her."

"Oh, good, she's hooked up who-knows-what… But at least it's not gonna make her implode."

"Clint!" She snapped at him, eyes widening. "Don't talk like that!"

"Sorry, sorry, but… I don't like weird things latching onto my friends. It doesn't sit well with me." He folded his arms, grumbling.

"It does not sit well with any of us, friend, but there is nothing to be done about it." The blond that spoke from the doorway surprised them all. "She is bound now, that shackle will not come off." He eyed the thing with obvious disdain, frowning as he stood beside her with his arms similarly folded.

"You say that like you have experience." She commented softly, raising her eyebrows. "Do you know what this thing is?"

"It is a binding shackle." He replied, not quite meeting her eyes. "It binds the wearer to the one whose name is carved upon the metal." He glanced between the archer and the doctor, before his eyes landed on her wrist.

"I noticed runes, on this section, here…" Bruce indicated a smooth part of the band, with awkward, angular runes carved into the metal. "But I can't read them."

"Can you?" Clint asked; eyes trained on the blond.

"They are in my native tongue, yes." The thunder god agreed; a hint of pink rising into his cheeks. "They… spell out my name."

The girl's eyebrows skyrocketed, her mouth dropping open. "I'm bound to you for life?" She clarified, swallowing thickly.

"Oh, that's just not fair." Clint frowned deeply. "Why does she get to be bound to _you_ for eternity? Lucky…"

"Clint." Banner's tone made it evident he was not pleased. "This isn't about that. If she's bound for life, then that means-"

"I don't mind." She interrupted the doctor with a smile up at the blond. "After all… There are worse ways to spend your life, I think."

Thor merely blushed.


	9. 1000 Words

_I actually got into photography because of Peter Parker, so he's always been one of my favorites._

* * *

She found them completely by accident one day, while looking for something else in the photo album. She had pulled all her albums down, spread them out around her on the floor, chairs, and coffee table, losing herself in the memories they showed her. Her family had never been big on photos, for one reason or another… The film was too expensive, they didn't have time, or there was no reason to bother. But she had always loved the photographs. They proved she had been _there_ , done _that_ , seen _this_. They reminded her of all her wonderful exploits, and the good times she had had.

Some were from trips she had taken, her camera never out of her hands or away from her eye for long. Some were special occasions, birthdays and celebrations she had wanted to remember. Others, of course, were of her friends and family, nights out and fun times, memories that kept her warm when the cold of solitude settled into her bones and threatened to never leave.

She was part way through a black album held together with thick leather straps when she saw the pictures. The first was just the two of them, the angle of the brunette's arm telling plainly he was the one holding the camera. He had a bright, goofy grin on his face, his other arm slung about her shoulders as he pulled her into the frame. She was laughing along with him, pink on her cheeks as she looked up at the camera.

The second, he was hanging upside down into the top of the frame, and she was the one with the camera this time. Even under the red of his mask, she could tell he was smiling. The alley that provided the backdrop of the photo was grimy and dimly lit, but she thought it made a nice shift from the bright red and blue of his costume.

The next was one he had taken of her while she wasn't looking, her face aglow from street lights far below them. Her hair was being tossed about by the wind as she stood atop the building and looked out over the city, a laugh on her lips as he took her picture.

There was another one of the two of them, each behind their own camera as they snapped the photo in a mirror, massive grins on their faces at the ingenuity of the idea. She hadn't noticed at the time, but his arm was around her waist, pulling her in close enough to fit in the frame.

The last one was of the pair of them again, but this one had been taken by a third party. They were dancing at her birthday party, both laughing as they swayed to the music and felt silly in their nice clothes. She remembered he had made a comment about feeling weird in _that_ suit, instead of his usual one, and she had laughed.

He had always had that ability, to cheer her up when she was feeling bad, to coax her back into cheer. She loved that about him, along with a multitude of other things as well. She pulled the first photo out of its slot and held it closer, trying to remember where they had been when it had been taken.

"Isn't that from my first visit?" His voice broke into her thoughts, making her snap her head up to look at him. He was wearing the same grin he had on in the picture, craning his neck to catch sight of it as he leaned over the back of the sofa. "It is! How did you end up with it? I thought I kept that one to myself…"

"I tend to not ask questions about how I get the pictures I have." She replied, smiling as she slipped it back into its protective slot. "Anyway, what're you doing here?"

"Heard you had a bit of trouble." He replied evasively, sitting on the couch properly, looking at the photos instead of her. "Thought you might want to drown your sorrows in photos taken with a real photographer."

She smacked his leg, flipping the album's page instead of replying.

"Not that you're _not_ a real photographer!" He hurried on when he realized his verbal blunder. "But I meant with real film and chemicals and dark-room antics. That kind of photography."

"Are you calling my kind of photography fake?" She asked, still not looking at him as she bit back a giggle. She loved messing with him like this.

"I never said that." He pointed out, poking the back of her head. "Stop putting words in my mouth or I'll be forced to do something drastic."

She did look at him then, an eyebrow arched. "Drastic like what?"

"Like make you my model." He grinned. "On second thought, I might do that anyway. C'mon, the snow's still pretty and I know you love it." He plucked the album from her hands, closing it and setting it on the coffee table. "Please?"

"No! It's cold out there, and the last time you asked me to model, I ended up soaked to the skin!"

"That was an accident!" He pulled her to her feet, chuckling. "No snowball fights, I promise, just a couple dozen frames of you in the snow and then we can come back in and drink cocoa to our hearts content. I promise."

She gave him a questioning look, a frown beginning to form on her lips. "I'm still not convinced." She said finally, an eyebrow arched at him.

"It'll be worth it, I promise!" He coaxed, pulling her towards the door gently.

"Worth what, exactly?" She asked, eyebrows arching in question.

"Worth a thousand words." He replied, giving her a soft smile.

She remembered the phrase from the first time they had discussed their common hobby, his insistence that every photo should hold that same worth.

She grinned, finally giving in to him. "I'll hold you to that."

* * *

 _Also, Spidey is super fun to write for. And although he's not technically an Avenger yet (in the Marvel Cinematic Universe), he does become one, so this still counts.  
_


	10. Star & Shield

_I went boxing, at one point, and I wrecked my hand by doing so. I've also sprained/jammed my right wrist probably four times, but I've never broken it... Yet._

* * *

Steve froze when he heard someone crying in the dimly lit gym, jazz music filtering in through the beaten-up speakers and mixing with the sound of labored breathing. No one should have been up and around in the Tower, not this time of night, and he was only up because nightmares had once again awoken him in a cold sweat.

He dropped his bag with towels and water bottles by the door and moved slowly into the space, looking around. If it was an intruder, Jarvis would have told one of them about it, and they would already have been dealt with. If it was one of his comrades, he didn't want to disturb them unless it was necessary.

There was a small shape curled up in a corner of the room, head bent to knees, knees clutched to chest, and Steve felt the cold sweat from before rush over him again when he saw red-stained bandages on the girls hands and purple-toed feet curled against the cement floor.

He shuffled over to her, unsure of exactly what to do, and sat in front of her, waiting until she registered his presence and peeked up at him before he spoke.

"I thought you liked to crash Tony's pad, when you needed somewhere to land in a hurry." He said, smiling in what he hoped was a hopeful way.

Her eyes were rimmed red from crying, her hair in a messy ponytail, and her hands dripping blood onto the floor. The bandages were done poorly, he noticed, and assumed she had tried to do them herself. Her toes were purple again, like the first time Tony had found her in his workshop, but none of them seemed to be broken, for which Steve was incredibly thankful.

"Want me to look at that?" He asked, nodding at her hands.

"I'd never done them before." She admitted, holding them out to him. "I was guessing."

He started to unwrap her left hand, pulling gently at the cotton, hoping it hadn't dried enough to hurt as he pulled away each scarlet layer, only to find another below it. She wiped her eyes on her shoulder, watching him silently as the music continued to play.

"You did a pretty good job, for not knowing how." He couldn't stand the silence between them, desperate for anything to keep her talking. "Just didn't tape the knuckles right."

"I was in a hurry."

He imagined her, showing up here in the dead of night when she knew they would all be asleep, throwing the wrappings on and pummeling a punching bag to keep from hurting herself. It was a step up, in any case, and he wondered whether Jarvis had known to put jazz on to calm her down, or if she had requested it.

"Just some scratches." He sighed in relief when he saw her grazed knuckled, mostly scabbed over now.

"I think I broke my right hand." She whispered, like a kid admitting they had stolen cookies. "Got sloppy, wrapping with my off hand."

He hurried to unwrap her right hand, realizing now that it was still dripping blood onto the ground, and he wondered how badly she had hurt herself. Her knuckles were raw, and she whimpered when he pulled the bandages off of them, reopening the wounds. Her wrist was swollen, and he realized she hadn't wrapped it properly.

"Hang on. Let me re-wrap this one."

He stood and hurried to his bag, grabbing it before he came back and sat in front of her again, opening one of the water bottles and rinsing her knuckles. She winced, shuddering, but stayed still. He held her hand carefully, not putting pressure on her wrist, and started to bandage her knuckles properly, wrapping up her hand the way you were meant to. He wrapped her wrist tightly, earning himself a muttered curse.

" _Language_." He teased, smiling at her.

She laughed at that, watching as he tapped the end, setting her wrist back on her knee.

"It's not broken, just sprained. You might have jammed it. I hear you have a mean right hook."

"It wouldn't be the first time I jammed it, either." She admitted, flexing her fingers to be sure she could.

"Want to talk about it?" He offered at last, realizing he had done all he could for her physically.

"Not really." She replied. "Wanna sock some ol' memories on the jaw?"

He laughed, standing before he helped her to her feet.

"Now that sounds like a plan."


	11. Carry Me Through

_Because when I deal with things, I like to work through them with Superheroes and stories. Good times._

* * *

On any typical day, Steve was used to hearing stranger noises, crashing about, and muttered curses littered throughout the tower; saving the world was messy work, after all, and it only made sense. However, when there was no crisis, no immediate threat to his team, the world, or the island of Manhattan, Steve found the combination of noises, crashing, and cursing to be a bit more troubling.

As was the case this time around.

He heard the yelp first; a strangled, sharp cry of pain and panic, and it was soon followed by an almighty crash, boxes and tools tumbling down a flight of stairs along with something bigger and human. As he leapt to his feet and rushed toward the sound, he heard a string of curses falling past lips he'd forgotten knew such colorful language.

" _Son of a_ —hey Steve." The girl grinned up at him ruefully, splayed out on the floor amidst boxes, machine parts, and various tools.

"Are you okay?" He asked, helping her sit up, looking her over for any obvious signs of injury.

"Yeah, I think— _ow._ " She winced as she put weight on her left wrist, glaring at it. "Jammed that."

"Anything _else_?" He noticed the wrench under her back and carefully laid a hand against her spine, checking for swelling.

"I think I did something to my ankle." She wiggled her toes, grimacing.

"Let's get you up, okay?" Steve helped her up, catching her as she toppled forward after putting weight on her ankle.

"Oh, yeah, did something. _OW_."

"Here, let me carry you to the medi—"

"No, no, I'm fine." She waved him off, hobbling over to the banister, whimpering softly. "Tony's gonna give me hell for dropping his stuff, though…"

"Tony can deal with it." Steve hovered in front of her, frowning. "Can I help you?"

"I don't think I can walk, actually, so if you could maybe get Banner, that'd be great." She sent him a pained smile, and he noticed the tremor in her hands and knees.

"Let me take you there. It'll be faster." He moved to pick her up, and she recoiled, almost falling over again.

"No!" Her voice cracked, knuckles going white as she clung to the banister. "Steve, please, don't."

"What's wrong?" He lowered his voice, gently holding her shoulders. "I'm trying to help, that's all."

"I know. I know you are; that's not the problem, I just…" She trailed off, and he saw the tears start to rim her eyes as her jaw clenched. "I really hate being picked up."

"I'm not going to drop you, if that's what you're worried about." He smiled reassuringly. "I'm stronger than I look."

She cracked a tiny smile, not looking at him. "I know, but, um, I can't… I can't." She was shaking all over now, the tremor in her voice as well as her body.

"C'mon, just let me…" He started to pick her up again, and she screamed, falling away from him.

"Steve, don't, I'm too heavy!"

He caught her before she collided with the stairs, staring at her as she started to cry, dipping her head to hide her face.

"Don't. Please. I'm heavier than I look, I don't want you to drop me, just… Please go get Banner."

"Jarvis, please tell Dr. Banner that I need him here." Steve spoke, gaze never leaving the girl before him.

"Of course, sir, I'll let him know he needs to come right away."

Steve knelt in front of her, waiting until she looked back up to speak. "You're not too heavy."

Her jaw clenched and unclenched, words trying to form, but never making it past her lips. She looked away from him, whispering in a rush.

"You say that, and I know it's true, but I was dropped last time someone picked me up and they told me I wouldn't be too heavy, but then I was and it hurt so much, I don't think I'd be able to handle that again."

"How far did you fall?"

"About a foot. They dropped me on a couch. That's not the part that hurt. It hurt when they shook with the effort of holding me, when they dropped me and laughed and told me I was heavier than I looked… Just leave me here, Steve, I'll be fine. I can't bear being dropped again."

"I won't drop you." He whispered.

Carefully, slowly, hands skating over her arms and legs, Steve pulled her to him, gingerly picking her up as he carried her over to the couch, her arms wrapped around his neck tightly, clinging to him like he was her port in a savage storm. He sat with her still in his arms, holding her tightly, her head buried in his shoulder.

"See? You're not too heavy. I got you over here without any trouble at all."

"You didn't drop me." She whispered, her voice surprised, awed.

"I'll never drop you. I promise." He whispered; smiling as she finally peeked up at him. "And if I do, I give you my full permission to drop-kick me into the next week."

She laughed, loosening her hold on him as Banner exited the elevator, a panicked look on his face.

"Hey, Bruce… Our little lady here took a tumble down the stairs." Steve smiled at the brunette. "Think you can look her over?"

"Of course, of course… Can you lift her up and lay her on the couch…?"

"Yeah, no problem." Steve picked her up, standing, and carefully laid her back onto the couch. "She's light as a feather."

"Liar." She whispered, smiling shyly at him. "But thank you for not dropping me."

* * *

 _#SavedBySteve  
_


	12. Counting Stars

_Trigger Warning: Description of Panic Attacks (Skip past the italics if you don't want to read it.)_

* * *

 _There's a spike in my pulse at first_

 _The room starts to spin, I get lightheaded, and suddenly I realize my heart is pounding. I take deep breaths and put two fingers to my neck, just to be sure. It thrums out a tango against my fingers and I take some more deep breaths to calm it. It doesn't work._

 _I count to ten, out loud, breathe, do it again._

 _I start to pace, working out the sudden shaking in my knees with exercise, and I shake my hands by the wrists to hide the shaking they're doing all on their own. Suddenly the bottom drops out of my stomach and I feel like I'm going to vomit. A tingling sort of white noise creeps up my spine into my ears and I have trouble hearing. My chest gets tight and my ears start to ring._

 _Anxiety and panic set in_

 _I count to ten, out loud, breathe, do it again._

 _Self-Destruct Mode activates and I start to bite the insides of my mouth to keep myself ground in reality. I check the sides of my vision for spots because I've passed out twice now and I'd prefer to keep that number the same. I start to shake my hands again, this time breathing in through my nose, out through my mouth._

 _Knees still shaking, feet going numb, I start to pull at my fingers and wish I could break them like twigs. Pain focuses me, keeps me present, keeps me from feeling anything else–all the other things I can't process get swallowed up in the pain._

 _I count to ten, out loud, breathe, do it again._

 _I check my pulse a second time, no change, and feel tears start to rim my eyes. I tip my head back and grind my teeth together. I fight back emotions I can't name with all my might, and hit myself in the leg to keep my mind from drifting, to keep myself from getting lost in the wash of nameless darkness trying to swallow me._

 _I count to ten, out loud, breathe, do it again._

 _I dig my fingers into my skin as far as they go, start to pull at my skin in an attempt to clear my head of the panic and give it something familiar to process. I slap myself across the face and finally–_ _finally–_ _I start to calm down._

 _I count to ten, out loud, breathe, do it again._

 _I check my pulse a third time, slight change. I get a drink of water and chalk it up as a victory. I hide in a corner where no one can see me shaking and I try to pretend I'm alright for another few hours while my heart calms down and my panic subsides. By the end of the night, I'll be alright._

 _I count to ten, out loud, breathe, do it again._

* * *

Her breath was coming out in soft gray clouds, knees drawn to chest, arms holding her together as she sat on the roof and hid from the world. Her heart was still pounding, the hum of the city undercut by an unpleasant buzz in her ears, her hands shaking as she twisted her fingers into the fabric of her pants and tried to calm herself down.

She counted to ten, out loud, breathed, did it again.

Head tipping forward to touch her knees, she let out a sigh and shivered from the cold. It helped her head and heart, helped keep the blush from burning her face off, but it didn't help everywhere else. It was cold on top of the tower, high up above the city, surrounded by stars, and she wished she'd had the forethought to grab a blanket on her way up.

She started popping her knuckles to give her hands something to do besides worry a hole in her jeans, and ended up wincing when she accidently reopened a freshly-scabbed scratch on her hand. She'd had a run-in with a push-pin, and she hadn't won.

She jumped when a hand took hers, carefully spreading the fingers open to look at the cut, and her head snapped up when she felt cool metal run gently over the wound.

"You should be more careful."

Of all the people to find her ( _after she'd snapped and collapsed in Tony's workshop_ again _)_ , she hadn't been expecting him. She hadn't expected the tiny smile he gave her, or the tender curl of his fingers around hers as he closed her hand back into a fist, hadn't expected him to move to sit beside her, offering her a blanket and pointedly looking at the stars instead of her face.

"I try. Just doesn't seem to work."

She pulled the blanket around her, hiding once more, and tried not to stare as his metal arm caught the faint glimmer of moonlight from the sliver high above them. She could make out his face from the ambient glow of the city below them, along with the low lighting Stark had put on the roof _(he claimed not for her, but they both knew it was a lie_ ), his expression carefully blank and his eyes glued to the sky.

"Cap tells me you have problems, sometimes." He glanced her way before looking back into the sky, elbows on his knees and posture so incredibly relaxed it makes her a little jealous. He tips his head back to touch the wall and chuckles. "I understand that. I'm surprised Steve hasn't talked you through some of the exercises he used."

"PTSD?"

"Something like that."

"I don't like talking about it."

"Why?"

She stopped before she answered, making sure she was phrasing it right. It wasn't so much that talking about it made it worse _(although it sure as hell didn't make it better_ ); it just made her feel weak. Vulnerable. She didn't talk about it with the team, either, because she _knew_ they'd all been through similar things _(and she could only really handle seeing Tony shatter over watching her have a panic attack in his presence so many times because they both knew that vulnerable, hearts-about-to-stop, panic and pain that came from an unexpected attack out of the damn blue_ ), and her experiences seemed like child's play in comparison, no matter how many times Tony or Steve or _Bruce_ told her that it didn't matter, because they were _her_ horrors made real, and that made them real for the team too and—

She stopped thinking, squeezing her eyes shut as her heart started to pound again, letting out a soft curse before she counted to ten, out loud, breathed, did it again.

"You know how people say counting sheep helps them sleep?" Bucky said after about two seconds of her about-to-be attack.

"Yeah?"

"I count stars." He gestured vaguely at the sky. "Not to sleep. To breathe. Out in the field, with Steve and the rest, we could usually see the sky. I counted stars to keep myself sane."

"Seems like a hell of a way to keep your mind intact."

He laughed; a low chuckle that was almost lost amid the city sounds that wafted up to them. "Steve used to say the same thing. Till he tried it."

"How did you start?"

She looked up at him, eyes meeting a pair softer than they had any right to be as they sat on a cold roof in winter and pretended that everything was going to be okay between the pair of them. They were a pair of broken dolls trying to stick themselves back together, and she was honestly surprised they hadn't cut up themselves or those around them already.

"With the constellations I knew." He looked up, still facing her, and snorted. "Not that you can see a damn thing with this smog. They sure screwed that up, huh?"

"21st century, and the world's a wreck."

"Along with most of us who live here." He added under his breath, the sentiment almost lost as he nodded to a point in the sky. "There. Ursa Major."

"You just… Count the stars in it?"

"Yeah. Then I move to the next: Cassiopeia or Ursa Minor. Then Orion, the Pleiades, if you can manage to spot them, or one of the others." He shrugged, the star on his shoulder giving a small hop. "Just depends on where you start."

She turned to look at him, trying to fight back the urge to run away or cry or laugh or kiss him, and finally settled on being a total joker, because that seemed the only appropriate course of action that didn't involve bloodshed or being a bitch.

"One." She said, tapping the star on his shoulder.

He laughed, the first honest-to-God laugh she'd heard from him and then looked up into the sky, smiling as he pointed to the North Star, twinkling in the distance. "Two."

"Three." She continued, pointing to the first star in Orion's belt.

"Four." He moved his hand, fingers brushing against hers as he pointed to the next.

"Five." She whispered, shifting closer, cold metal pressed to warm flesh as they continued to count, huddled on the roof while they tried to forget their pasts and the pain within them.

 _They counted to ten, out loud, breathed, did it again._

* * *

 _So, I really wanted to write something for Bucky, and this idea just sorta came to me, so it happened. It's something I struggle with a lot, and having tried counting stars, it does actually help. ^_^  
_

 _Title taken from the song_ Counting Stars _by:_ OneRepublic


	13. He Hears Doesn't Listen

_Because all the boys are after all the girls and sometimes they are idiots._

* * *

The garage was quiet, this late in the night, and Tony had been surprised when Jarvis had alerted him to a visitor's presence, and told him to go look for her amid the glistening hoods and sleek leather interiors of the garage. He had hoped he would find her at once, but it took a little bit of poking around before he spotted a pair of bare feet propped in the window of his Audi R8.

He slipped in the passenger's side, lowering the seat so he could lie on his side and look at the girl lounging in his backseat, grinning as she looked up and took off her headphones.

"What's got you down in the dumps, doll?"

She gestured to the phone lying on the seat beside her. "More not-talking by the resident suitor."

"Oh, well, that just won't do, now will it?" Tony frowned, settling in for a long talk. "What'd he do this time? C'mon, I'm a man, I can take it... And dish it, if you need me to. I am more than capable of giving him a sound and very spectacular canvas of bruises, if it comes to that. Just say the word."

She cracked a grin, a good sign, and stretched. "No, no, he didn't try anything."

"Than what's this not-talking of which you speak?" He smirked, tossing her a wink. "Because the only not-talking I know of usually involves mouths in a much more active way.

"Well that's _you_ , not me." She winked back, checking her phone. She sighed, seemingly relieved, when the screen showed no new messages.

"Thank _God_." He rolled his eyes dramatically. "The last thing I need to think about is you necking with some nameless brat in the back of his car. Or worse, _my_ car. I shudder at the thought!"

" _Tony_." She laughed, kicking the headrest hard enough to jostle him.

"Sorry, rambling. But c'mon, you know you can talk to me! I'm you're cool, slightly shady uncle!" He smiled, softly, reassuringly, and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "What's up, buttercup?"

She paused, checking her phone again (out of habit, he would guess, less than necessity), and then whispered back. "He talks; doesn't listen. That's what I mean by not-talking."

"Oh. Well that's just rude." Tony stole her phone, pulling up his contact info with a frown. "What's his deal?"

"He's a guy?" She offered, shrugging.

" _Ouch_." He teased, grinning and handing back her phone.

"Sorry, but it's been my experience that guys don't listen real well." She set it back on the seat beside her, shrugging and folding her arms tightly.

"I do." He pointed out, grinning. "Don't I?"

"But you're a _man_." She corrected, chuckling. "There's a difference."

"There shouldn't be."

"No arguments here." She laughed softly, shrugging again. "But apparently there is. And I don't like it."

"Well, if he keeps not listening, you just come tell me, okay?" He rolled onto his back, tucking his hands back behind his head. "I'll clear his ears out."

"And the rest of his brain with it?"

"Hey, hey, I made no threats!" He laughed.

" _Yet._ " She corrected, and he heard her settle back into her seat.

"Yet." He agreed.

"Make some for me too, if you do, okay?"

"Deal!" He grinned, holding out his hand for a high-five, catching her hand and giving it a light squeeze when she returned it. "Uncle Tony to the rescue, right?"

She laughed, squeezing his hand back. "Right."

* * *

 _I literally looked up the 2008 Audi R8 (which is what he drives in the movies) and went "yeah, I'd crash in the back of that". XD_


	14. Summertime

_I started this as one thing, and it turned into something else entirely. I don't mind though._

* * *

It felt like summer, officially, as Bucky stretched on the lawn chair perched atop Avenger's tower, high enough to feel cool winds and breathe fresh air, a tall glass of iced-tea perched beside him and a pair of shades keeping his retinas from frying in the high-noon sun. He loved the summer; it put him in a good mood. He felt warm for the first time in a very long time; sweat beading pleasantly over his skin, borrowed shorts breezy and comfortable in the New York heat. He felt drowsy in the sunshine, like a metal-clad cat ready for a nap.

"It's like catching Adonis on his day off."

The voice broke through his daze, a shadow sliding over to block the sun from his eyes as he squinted up at the grinning girl.

"Who said I was off duty?" He teased, popping his sunglasses onto the top of his head.

"Oh, you're right." She feigned shock, a hand over her heart. "You're clearly _deep_ cover, Agent Barnes!"

He chuckled as she laughed, looking her over. She looked like she'd stepped straight out of a Coca-Cola commercial from when he was a kid, in a thin, floral sundress, big sunglasses, and a floppy hat that shaded her neck and shoulders. She was barefoot, carefully perched on a towel by his chair, treating the floor like lave ( _which, at this time of the year, it might as well have been_ ). She had a glass of ice-tea herself, a slice of lime perched on the rim and a pitcher of it now sitting by his glass.

"I thought you didn't like the sun." He pulled himself up, making room for her to sit.

"I don't." She toasted him with her glass as she sat, looking out over the city. "But it was between going to Malibu with the rest of the crew, or staying here and catching some rays with you, and I knew which I'd prefer."

"Malibu?"

"Pepper suggested some downtime away from the city. Coulson jumped at the idea. Cap volunteered us to stay put in case of an emergency."

Bucky was torn between relived ( _because bless Steve for knowing he didn't do crowds or beaches_ ) and insulted ( _because seriously, they hadn't even though to_ ask him?), but decided it was probably for the best. Stark might have begrudgingly upgraded his arm before, but if sand or salt water ruined it, he'd never live it down.

"You don't like beaches either?" He asked, lowering his shades and relaxing back into his seat once more.

"I don't swim." She whispered, offering him a half-hearted smile. "I don't like how I look in a bathing suit."

"Beautiful, you mean?" He offered casually, trying to keep his tone light. He knew how she felt about herself, caught the way she'd glance at her reflection and consciously tuck her hair behind her ears or dip her head down and away to hide herself from the prying eyes of the mirror.

"Bucky…" She trailed off, and even hidden behind her sunglasses, he knew she wasn't looking at him.

"I don't like how I look either, actually." He supplied her with an escape, smiling. "Scars and shit, ya know?"

"They give you character." She nudged him playfully, smirking. "Besides, I'm not complaining about getting to see you without a shirt, Adonis."

He smiled, suddenly shy, and nudged her back. "Your scars give you character, too. The ones on your hips that you hide, the ones on your thighs, too." He watched, oddly pleased, as her mouth went slack and a delicate flush swept into her cheeks. "And the ones inside, too. The ones people will never see. Those give you character, too."

They sat in silence for a long moment as she fiddled with the slice of lime on her glass for a moment before she took a long drink and then whispered. "How did you know about those?"

"You forget sometimes that your shirts ride up when you sink in your seat. When you lean forward, sometimes I can see them. They're beautiful."

She squirmed on the spot, shifting her glass nervously from one hand to the other.

"I love summer." Bucky smiled, taking a long drink from his glass. "Puts me in a good mood."

She moved from the seat, popping open the umbrella that stood beside him, sinking into the lounge chair beside his. She tipped her head back and sighed, hanging her hand over the arm, her fingers barely brushing against his as he turned to look at her, smiling as she took off her sunglasses and smiled back.

"It's starting to grow on me, I think."

* * *

 _Gotta love sly-and-introspective Bucky, right?  
_


	15. Hide and Seek

__Bland Marvel Headcannon: Bruce is a neat-freak (not a germaphobe, just crazy tidy), because The Other Guy causes so much destruction that he likes to know he has a calm, orderly place to go when he needs to think.__

* * *

Bruce knew something was wrong the instant he set foot in his room. He was meticulous with organization (not that he had a space that was his that he could _actually keep clean_ ), and he knew that he hadn't left out a pen and a pad of paper when he had left to go to the lab a few hours earlier. And yet there they sat on his desk, glaringly out of place.

He remained calm, but went on alert, glancing around the room and pulling up Tony on his speed dial in case he needed him in a hurry (Cap was a better back-up plan, he knew, but Tony was only a floor below him, and who knew where Cap was at this time on a weekend). He inched further into the room, glancing around, and spotted the intruder curled up by the foot of his bed, peeking up at him.

"Hey, Bruce." She whispered, smiling shyly. "Sorry, I should have asked, or told Jarvis to let you know, but I hadn't, um… Hadn't planned on staying."

He smiled back and relaxed, slipping his phone back into his pocket as he sat in front of her, mirroring her stance (knees to chest, arms around legs, the safest, smallest shape she could get into, and he felt his heart ache at the thought that it was her default posture). "It's fine. You okay?"

"Mhm!" She smiled, nodding quickly, and sat up a little straighter. "Just… Yeah."

"Yeah?" He prompted gently, aware that if she really didn't want to talk about it, she would change the subject long before he found out what was going on.

"I was hiding." She admitted. "I needed somewhere to just breathe and relax, and you're room was closest. I'm really sorry; I didn't mean to crash your down time. I can leave."

She moved to stand, but he lightly put a hand on her knee, smile widening as he shook his head. "I'd be glad of the company, actually."

Her eyes narrowed a fraction as she settled against the floor again, sandwiched between his bed and desk, the space barely big enough to fit her. "You sure?"

"Positive! I was actually thinking about coming to see you. I have something to show you." He stood, rummaging in the drawer of his desk for a moment before he found the pictures he was looking for and handed them over. "Nat dropped off some seedlings that came from Wakanda, and I've been growing them in the lab using different light waves to see if there are any differences in the blooms they produce."

She relaxed further, legs sliding down so she could rest her arms on her knees, looking through the pictures he'd taken of the tiny buds. "Some of these look bigger…" She flicked her gaze up at him. "What kind of light are you using?"

"Some are full UV lights, like blacklights, and some are normal 'daytime' lights that replicate natural sunlight." She giggled at his use of air quotes and he grinned. "The blacklight blooms are doing better, so far, than the daylight ones, which really doesn't make much sense."

"Shouldn't the added UV radiation be bad for them?" She asked, eyebrows knitting together as she studied the photos. "I would have thought they'd do worse."

Bruce felt something start to spread in his chest, a warm blossom that filled him with a sense of pride. She was so smart, even if she did hide it, and he loved this side of her just as much as the others: the artist that gravitated toward Steve, the mechanic that loved to crash in Tony's workshop, the gamer who challenged Clint to Mortal Combat tournaments, the photographer who would _literally_ swing around with Peter every now and then, the dancer who would practice with Nat in the dead of night, the fighter who would spar with Bucky and somehow survive, the scientist who would stare at photos of an anomaly and wonder why there was a curiosity like this in the lab just down the hall.

He loved every atom of her, every aspect of her personality, every tiny little detail that made _her_.

"Want to take a look at them? It's about time for my daily check-up. I can't let them sit in the UV light all day, in case they get carried away."

"Tony'd never let you live it down if you grew a mutant plant in his lab and didn't invite him over for the party." She teased, handing him back the photos. "You really don't mind me tagging along?"

"Not at all." Bruce smiled; standing and offering her a hand. "C'mon, we can both go discover a mutant plant."

"Thanks, take me down with you." She giggled, taking his hand and letting him help her up.

He tossed the photos back onto his desk, catching sight of _Dear Bruce, sorry for crashing your crib, I just…_ scribbled out on the notepad. He felt another pang, imagining her hands shaking as she tried to explain why'd she'd been there, then giving up half-way through and just collapsing onto the floor. He kept a firm hold on her hand as he led her from the room, and she slowly slide her thumb over his knuckles, the small movement speaking volumes of her appreciation for what he was currently doing.

He smiled, glancing back at her. "If Tony decides to get mad at us, I'll claim you had no prior knowledge of the experiment, I promise."

"Thank you, Bruce." She whispered, squeezing his hand gently. "For everything."

* * *

 _Bruce really deserves more love in these, so expect to see him more._


	16. Just Keep Breathing

_Bit more "story mode" than the usual, but I've been struggling with this lately (not-crying, not being shot), and I thought it deserved an entry._

* * *

"You didn't cry."

The comment was made in a whisper, the brunette hovering by her bed looking worse than she was as he held her hand and tried not to stare at the spot on her side where he knew bandages were lurking just under the thin cotton of her shirt.

"Bruce said that was probably the shock."

Bucky closed his eyes, found it didn't help, and snapped them open again, placing a shaky, barely-there kiss to her knuckles as he continued to hold her hand and hope he didn't have nightmares about this.

"Does it always hurt that bad?"

He didn't even have to close his eyes to see her pale face swim into his vision, bloodstained hands clutching her side as she slid down the wall and left a crimson stain in her wake, a shaky whisper turning into a scream as she called for the doctor. Bucky's hands had been shaking then, and they shook now, the weight of her smaller hand in his almost too much to carry. He'd never heard Steve scream until then, never seen Tony look so panicked, never seen Bruce look like he was about to smash up the whole damn tower without even changing a shade.

"Yeah." He managed, gaze betraying him as they strayed to the spot on her side where the bullet had passed through her. "You're a trooper."

"You sound like Clint."

"If I try to sound like me I'll just end up swearing."

He'd sworn so much over the past hour, he thought Steve would try to wash his mouth out with soap.

 _Dammit_ she shouldn't have been there.

 _Son of a bitch_ taking out a civilian.

 _Shit_ it was all his fault.

 _Fuck_ he would never forgive himself if she didn't pull through.

"I don't mind, you know."

" _Fuck_ , I can't…" He stopped, his shoulders shaking as he relieved the memory once more.

They'd come back from a mission all safe and sound, but while they were unloading from the quin-jet a hitter hired by _some son of a bitch with a hard-on for sniping heroes_ had tried to take out The Winter Soldier. He'd tried to shoot him through the girl now curled on his bed, and he hadn't failed to grasp the irony of the situation, even as he'd caught her, felt blood sliding against his hands as he put pressure on the wound and screamed for backup. Screamed for her to just keep breathing, because she couldn't stop, not now. He didn't think he wanted to know how Clint and Natasha had gotten back at the sniper. He didn't want to know what Tony had said to get Bruce to calm down and operate. He didn't want to know what Steve was doing right now, in an attempt to cope with what almost was.

"I still can't cry." She whispered finally, giving his hand a tiny squeeze. "I've been trying to for the past hour, and I just can't. It won't work. Like my emotions have shut down and refuse to respond."

"That's the shock."

"I didn't think it'd last this long.

"It can last for days."

He still remembered the first bullet he'd taken, the uncannily cold persona he'd had for _ten days_ after the bullet was removed, and the utter shit-fest of a breakdown that had come after he'd finally broken down in his tent one night and sobbed because he'd _almost lost Steve and Steve had almost lost him_.

"I can't lose you."

"You didn't."

He glanced at her, two sets of blue meeting as she smiled and he felt something in him quake at the thought that she'd almost turned into yet another casualty of war. Another lost soul in their crusade to save the world. It had been decades since he'd felt that sort of fear for another human being.

" _I can't lose you_."

She sat up, wincing softly as tears finally sprang to her eyes and she took his face in her hands, voice a quiet whisper as she looked him dead in the eye and didn't flinch at the pain she saw there.

"You _won't_."

* * *

 _I know Buck's probably not the first candidate to jump to mind for this entry, but that's why I picked him._


	17. Mark 01

_I always wanted my own armor, and thanks to the last entry, this was sort of inevitable... So yeah.  
_

* * *

" _Stark, stop it; this is dangerous—not just for her, either."_

" _Shut up, Rogers, this isn't up for debate."_

"Tony _…"_

" _Dammit, Steve, I said no. I am making her the goddam armor, and you can't stop me."_

" _Tony, please, just think about this."_

" _I have thought about it. You know what I don't want to think about?_ Losing her _."_

* * *

"Captain Rogers, Mr. Stark requests your presence in the workshop, at your earliest convenience."

Steve stopped what he was doing (sketching the New York skyline through the positively _massive_ windows in his penthouse of the tower) and glanced up at the ceiling reflexively, fully aware that Jarvis would not be lurking above him anywhere, but unable to squash the impulse, regardless. He set his pencil and sketch pad down on the couch beside him, pulling himself to his feet.

"What's his reason this time, Jarvis?"

"He would like to show you something that is, as he put it, beyond awesome."

Steve rolled his eyes, already feeling a headache coming on as he made for the elevator and thumbed the appropriate button. "Of course it is…"

"Sir, I understand you are currently at odds with Mr. Stark about a certain topic regarding our more permanent guest, but I would encourage you to allow him this, at least. He cares for her very deeply, as do you, and even I am loath to see anything happen to the girl."

"Jarvis, I understand that Tony's attached to her—"

"No, sir, you do not. He took her in when she had no one. There is little he would not do for her, given the chance. This whole ordeal has been very hard on him, as I am sure it has been on the rest of the team as well. Please understand that, for Mr. Stark, she is worth protecting at all costs."

The elevator doors slid open before Steve could properly formulate a reply, and he stepped silently out into the workshop, stopping dead when he caught sight of Bruce and Tony both hovering behind a pane of shatter-proof glass.

"Cap!" Tony grinned like a kid on Christmas morning, beckoning him over. "Come see our lil' girl soar!"

"I am not little." The girl in question pouted from her spot at the center of a mat on the other side of the glass, arms folded and feet encased in silver boots that looked uncomfortably familiar.

" _Lil'_." Tony repeated, throwing her a wink. "Completely different meaning. Okay, you ready?"

She unfolded her arms, and Steve caught the glint of silver on her hands as her fingers wriggled in gloves of the same material as her boots. His stomach dropped as she gave Tony a nod and a grin.

"Ready!"

"Activating thrusters at five percent capacity in three… two… one…"

Tony pressed the button he was holding, and the boots instantly hoisted their wearer into the air, her face lighting up as she used the repulsers on her hands to steady herself, making a careful circle around the mat before she looked up at the three spectators, eyes bright with tears as she laughed.

"I'm _flying_."

"You're a natural!" Tony beamed, stepping around the glass to start taking measurements of the instrument's output.

Screens began to appear in midair with readouts Steve couldn't decipher, and he inched closer to Bruce as the brunette monitored the boots and ensured they stayed stable. He glanced up at the Captain over the rims of his glasses, offering him a slight smile as the blonde looked on in disapproval.

"I know you think it's a bad idea… But this suit of armor is his way of protecting her."

"Seems like a cold way of keeping her safe."

"There are colder."

Steve watched as she touched back down, laughing and throwing her arms around Tony as he held her close, his smile soft and tinged with the pain he had felt when she'd first been injured. It was the look he'd worn numerous times when he'd explained to Steve that the girl had crashed in his workshop or had ended up sleeping on the roof or ( _heaven forbid)_ had injured herself yet again. He knew that look, had seen it on his own face enough times to know what it meant.

"I still don't think she should be on missions with us."

"She won't be." Bruce smiled. "That was never the plan. This is to keep her safe, should she be in danger. She won't be out there saving the world with us on a regular basis. Tony's eccentric, he's not insane."

"Jury's still out on that." She called over, laughing as Tony sputtered in faux shock over the remark.

Steve felt a weight leave his chest as he smiled back at them both, watching Tony man-handle her back into the middle of the mat for a second test run of the thrusters. She smiled, eyes crinkling with the force of it, and nodded eagerly as she prepared for lift off.

"Moonbeamer: Mark 01, test two in three… two… one…"

* * *

 _Moonbeamer Armor (C) Silver Flame Alchemist_

 _And yes, I do have renderings of this suit drawn up. XD_


	18. Idle

_Ho-ly CRAP it has been forever since I was on here. 0-0_

 _Welp. Sorry for the leave of absence, but.. GUESS WHO'S BACK BABY! :D_

* * *

"Such strange creatures, you humans." The comment was made as a soft murmur into her ear, the brunet materializing beside her, wearing a casually bored expression. "Always hurrying about, never resting."

"Probably because our lives are so much shorter." She replied, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. "We don't have time for extravagant feasts or elaborate parties."

A small ghost of a smile flitted over his lips before he smoothed out his expression once more, lifting an eyebrow at her.

"And yet here you sit, sketching away in that book of yours. Is that not idleness on your planet?"

"I'm thinking. This helps." She flicked her gaze around the park, smiling. "Besides, I like people-watching."

He took a look around at the various people that surrounded them; the couple on a picnic, the runner with her dog, the mother with her two belligerent children, the performer with his guitar, all bustling about through their surroundings, oblivious of the girl and her companion.

"What makes them so interesting? They are merely humans. They have no extraordinary qualities that I can see—nothing to cause your attention to become so fixated on them."

"What makes me so interesting?" She countered. "I'm merely human, too."

"There is nothing _mere_ about you." He replied cryptically. "You have many extraordinary qualities that I can see—cause indeed for my attention to become so fixated on you."

She felt her cheeks tint pink, dipping her head to hide it in her notebook. He slipped an arm across the back of the bench, smirking as he glanced down at her, expression once more casually bored, his tone neutral.

"Such strange creatures, you humans."

She snorted, throwing him a look. "Such strange creatures, you Asgardians."

Loki smirked. "And yet here we sit, idling time away together."

* * *

 _I had this written out but not typed up for a long time, and I'm fairly certain I wrote this in class at some point. XD  
_

 _expect more soon!_


	19. Stranger Things

_I got to see Dr. Strange this past weekend, and it was everything I was hoping for, and also so much more. I tried to keep this as spoiler-free as possible, so sorry if there's anything in here that has you going "OH COME ON!" :D_

* * *

She was sitting on the rooftop, huddled around her thermos of tea, watching the sunset as it dipped beyond the New York skyline, jagged peaks of skyscrapers cutting it into an orange and red pattern. Her hands were shaking slightly, partly from the chill settling in for the night, partly from her anxiety.

Jarvis had provided her with the tea and access to the roof, politely agreeing to only inform the other residents of the tower where she was if it became absolutely necessary. In the meantime, she was left to watch the blaze of light die into the western horizon and sip her tea, humming to herself as the warm liquid slid down her throat and pooled into her chest, warming her from the inside out.

She jumped when she heard a voice off to her right, nearly spilling her tea as she whipped around to look at the man floating there.

"Sorry to interrupt, but this is the Avenger's Tower, right?"

She blinked up at him, instantly recognizing the Sorcerer, and floundered for a moment before she managed to reply.

"Yeah, um, that's right."

"Oh, good, I figured there was only one giant building with an A on the side, but you never know in New York." He landed beside her, studying her for a moment as she picked herself up off the ground. "And you are?"

"Oh, I'm not an Avenger." She waved her hand, setting her thermos carefully on the ground.

"I didn't ask if you were." He pointed out. "I asked who you are."

She smiled, extending a shaking hand, glaring at it absently as she did so. "I'm just visiting."

He stared at her hand for a moment, mouth going slack, before he drew himself back up and took her hand, giving it a quick shake. "Nice to meet you, Just Visiting."

She laughed, ducking her head, and shoved her hands into her pockets. "If you're looking for the Avengers, you'll have to wait. They're on a mission, right now. Something about over-sized rats in the sewer, or something."

"How glamorous." Stephen snorted. "Do you know when they'll be back?"

"Jarvis?" She glanced toward the building. "ETA?"

" _Approximately an hour, Miss."_ The butler replied. " _I have informed Mr. Stark and the others that you have arrived, Sir, and they will be ready to meet with you once they return."_

"So until then, I what? Just wait here?" He asked.

"You can join me, if you want." She offered, retrieving her thermos from the ground. "I have tea."

"What's in it?" He asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Just tea." She laughed. "I promise."

He nodded once, hovering above the ground as she returned to her seat, pouring out a cup for him and offering it.

"Your hands are shaking." He pointed out, catching sight of the tremors once more.

"I'm cold." She answered evasively.

"And?" He pressed.

"Rough day."

He took the tea, looking out over the city, watching her from the corner of his eye as she poured herself more tea, holding it to her chest before she took a sip, a soft hum echoing into her mug. He recalled Thor mentioning a girl who had taken up residency at the Tower, but he hadn't thought she would be so… _normal_. She looked like one of any number of girls he had seen passing by his Sanctum earlier that day, nothing truly remarkable about her, and yet still with a glimmer of something he couldn't place and couldn't ignore.

"Do the Avengers know you've had a rough day?"

"A few." She smiled. "Mostly Tony and Steve. But that's because they ask."

"Do the others not care?"

"The others don't press unless they think they really need to."

He let out a snort, nodding once before he took a sip of tea, surprised by how good it was. If she had no other talents, she apparently was capable of making a good brew.

"And you're hiding up here because…?"

"I like the view." She smiled, glancing at him. "I've always like watching the stars come out. Kind of comforting, I guess… They're always there when I need them."

Strange opened his mouth to reply, but instead of an erudite comment, a soft yelp escaped him as he dropped to the ground, the cloak that had been keeping him afloat abandoning him in favor of draping over the girl's shoulders.

She blinked, eyebrows spiking as it wrapped itself around her, tightening until it was secure, but she was still able to move. She looked at him, opening her mouth to question or explain, but he waved it away with a flick of his wrist.

"It has a mind of its own." He rolled his eyes, getting comfortable on the ground.

"It's beautiful." She whispered, running a hand reverently over the crimson cloak. "You're lucky to have such an impressive Relic."

He stared at her, blinking. "You… know about them?"

She glanced back, grinning. "I do a lot of reading."

He snorted faintly, looking back toward the sunset, the orange bleeding out into a soft violet. They sat in silence for a long moment, sipping their tea, the girl draped in his cloak as he pretended not to care that it had abandoned him so easily.

"It's just trying to be polite." She spoke, as though knowing exactly what he'd been thinking. "You were worried about my hands, it knew that, it tried its best to fix it."

She held up one of her hands, pointedly not looking at him.

"See? No more shaking."

Strange struggled to come up with a response for a moment, giving his cloak a filthy look before he finally spoke.

"It's still there."

"It likes me." She replied, grinning as she threw him a wink. "I called it beautiful."

The cloak rearranged itself more tightly about her, as though preening under the praise; and Strange flicked an eyebrow at it. He hadn't realized what an ego the Relic had.

"I think it's beautiful too." He _knew_ he sounded like he was sulking, but he refused to care.

"No you don't." She replied instantly. "You think it's convenient, and you like that something as rare and wonderful as The Cloak of Levitation chose you. You think it looks good on you, when in reality it looks just as good on its own."

Strange opened his mouth, ready to protest, when a corner of the cloak reached out to slap him on the back, an encouraging, teasing gesture that caused the girl to laugh as she looked down at it.

"Be nice." She teased, running a hand gently over the shoulder of it, giggling. "You _did_ choose him, after all."

"How do you know all of this, anyway?" He finally asked the question he had been dying to know since she had offered him tea.

She blinked up at him, smiling. "I told you. I do a _lot_ of reading."

"Did Wong rat on me?" He asked, eyes narrowing.

"Who?" She blinking innocently over the top of her mug at him, eyes alight with internal laughter, and he sighed, rolling his eyes skyward.

"Well, stranger things, I suppose."

"I'm sure you'd know all about those." She grinned. " _Dr._ _Strange_."

* * *

 _I love him so much. As soon as I watched it, I knew I had to write this. Like. There was no other option. XD  
_

* * *

 _Dr. Strange and all related characters belong to:_ Marvel


	20. Winter Wonder

_Because_ someone _didn't get enough hugs as a child, and is therefore terribly misunderstood._

* * *

She was standing on the rough stone ledge, shivering slightly from the cold, her breath coming in little puffs of frosty white. It had been an uncommonly, uncomfortably warm winter, but the sudden change in weather and surroundings didn't strike her as a coincidence. She knew who had planned this, where the little flakes of white drifting past her had originated.

"You always told me you loved snowflakes, the way they look." Hands alighted onto her waist, the whisper dancing past her ear in a quiet whisper. "I thought that perhaps you would like to see some before the year is out."

"There are better ways to share than dragging me out here to the middle of nowhere." She shivered under her heavy cloak, peeking out from the fur-trimmed hood shyly at the frozen landscape that surrounded her. "Is it even safe…?"

"You are safe as long as you are with me." Loki leaned in closer, a smile in evidence. "I promise you that."

A wave of his hand put out a sparkling bridge of ice at her feet, winding down from the ledge of the stone to the dark bottom of the ravine.

"I don't know if I want to." She mumbled, glancing from the foot of the bridge across the frozen, craggy landscape. "There are certain places I am uncomfortable treading."

"Now, now, where is your adventurous spirit?" He asked with a chuckle, standing beside her and putting an arm loosely around her waist. "Come now, here you are with a perfect opportunity to play a little in the snow, and you refuse to take it?"

"This is not the romp I had planned." She muttered.

"Then how about this?"

She was scooped up as the bridge changed, the sides heightening and the floor of it scooping out slightly to make a slide. He swept her into his lap as he pushed off from the top, sending them winding down to the bottom of the ravine.

She screamed, delighted, as her hood flew off her head. Her hands scrabbled for purchase somewhere, and found it on his arm wrapped around her waist as he laughed along with her.

The ride down the icy slide was short-lived, and as soon as they reached the bottom she collapsed into giggles, tipping her head back to rest on his shoulder. He continued to laugh along with her, holding her close as he dissolved the slide behind them. They stayed like that until their hearts had calmed, the laughter dissolving slowly back into a comfortable silence, the hush of snowfall a soothing backdrop to the quiet moment they were sharing.

"There, how was that?" He asked.

She looked up at him, breath catching as she watched the white snowflakes land in his raven black hair, his breath mingling with hers in ghostly little clouds of white. For a moment she thought she caught the flash of crimson in his eyes, his skin cast with a faint blue tint, but she blinked and it was gone, replaced with sparkling green eyes and flushed, pink cheeks, his lips curling upwards as he realized she was staring longer than usual.

"That was marvelous." She managed in a whisper, unable to take her eyes off him.

He chuckled, standing with her still in his arms, only setting her down one he knew she could keep her footing on the thick snow and rocky terrain.

"Just as I had hoped." He whispered, running a hand over her hair to dislodge errant flakes that had gathered there, replacing her hood with a quick tug. "Now then, let us see if we cannot warm you up to this world."

* * *

 _Let's not lie-we all wish we could have this kind of moment with the God of Mischief.  
_


	21. Fight Song

_Fun fact: Panic attacks come in colors. Red is when you want to punch things. Blue is when you want to cry. I had a red one and had no idea what to do. So Thor happened._

* * *

Screams were filling the gym as the girl inside battered the lone punching bag that hung in a corner. The sounds echoed off the concrete walls, mingling with the music Jarvis was pumping into the space, creating a new symphony. She screamed again as she spun into a kick and lost her footing, hitting the ground hard. She swore as she started to pick herself, up, curling in defensively the way Bucky had told her to whenever she took a hit and couldn't recover right away.

A hand alighted onto her shoulder, a gentle voice cutting through the music as she was helped to her feet.

"Perhaps you would do better with someone here to spot for you?"

Thor kept his hand on her shoulder, smiling as she looked at the ground, cursing her luck at being found by _the God of thunder_ of all people.

"I'll be fine." She panted, careful not to meet his eye.

"I am sure you will be, but you would do better for the company, I think." He squeezed her shoulder gently; catching her chin and tilting her head back up. "You train with men who do their best, but perhaps you would do better to train with one who can best teach you how to use your size to your advantage?"

She chuckled, shrugging shyly in agreement. For all their attempts to help her learn, Steve and Bucky both knew a very specific skill set. Bucky had taught her how to disarm and disable her opponent, how to take someone out as swiftly and smoothly as possible—Steve, for all his time stuck at the back end of an alley fighting to keep his feet, had forgotten some of what it was like to be out-gunned in a fight. He had done his best to show her how to stay small and fast, to keep out of the line of fire, but she was still at a disadvantage in any fight.

Nat had even tried to show her a few things, but she was neither flexible nor fast enough to manage the take-downs the assassin pulled off on a regular basis.

"What did you have in mind?" She asked, glancing up at him, fidgeting under his gaze.

"Hit me." He beamed, nodding down at his Midgardian attire.

"I'm sorry, what?" She blinked, eyebrows rising.

"Hit me." He repeated. "Just try. As hard as you can."

She started to argue, but he threw a sudden punch; too wide to have actually hit, but it was enough to get her attention and make her react. She dodged with a soft yelp and retaliated with a swift punch to his solar plexus, earning a sharp release of breath.

"Not bad!" He laughed. "You put your weight into it, good. But you should always strike more than once."

She skipped backward a few paces, finding her way onto the sparring mats, and put her hands up the way Steve had taught her.

"Your stance is good, too, small and light." He looked her over, nodding approvingly. "You keep your weight on your toes; good, good… And a wide stance is one that is not easily overturned."

"Okay, slow down, why are you…" She dodged another badly-thrown punch and struck with three of her own, pummeling into his stomach. She heard him wince as she danced out of his reach again, and he grinned.

"Perfect!"

"Thor, _stop_." She hissed. "I don't want to fight you."

"You looked eager to hurt something earlier." He pointed out, stepping closer.

"Yeah, some _thing_!" She danced away from him again, careful to keep her distance. "Not some _one_."

Thor lunged, and she let out a yelp as he tackled her to the ground, pinning her hands, voice low and hard. "Often they are the same. Just as you often cannot count on your skills to save you in a fight. When you are out-matched, out-maneuvered, what must you do?"

She squirmed underneath him, breath hitching as she struggled to free herself. "Thor, please…"

"No." His voice softened, the pressure easing on her wrists, but not enough to let her break free. "You are not the rest of us, little one. You have to fight in ways we do not. So when you are trapped, what must you do?"

She drew a knee up sharply, catching him off guard, and used her foot to lever him over onto his back, her teeth against his throat, hands pinning his down at the wrists.

She pulled back slowly, eyes rimmed with tears, voice soft. "You fight dirty."

Thor smiled softly, pushing himself up onto his elbows. "You fight to survive, little one. That is all any of us expect of you: that you will fight to survive."

She started crying, hiding her face in her hands, and he pulled her into a gentle hug, whispering something in his native tongue that she didn't understand, but appreciated all the same. He stroked her hair, coaxing her hands away from her face and around his shoulders, letting her cry into the crook of his neck, hands smoothing over her back and hair as he continued to whisper quietly to her.

By the time she had stopped crying, she was curled up in his lap, her arms around his neck, her face hiding against his shoulder. He was holding her gently, a hand on her back, the other over her legs, his thumb rubbing soft circles against her knee.

"Still want to hurt something?" He asked at last, dropping a kiss into her hair when she shook her head. "Then perhaps you will accompany me to the roof for some hot cocoa? I hear it is a Midgardian delicacy, and I have yet to partake of it."

She giggled, nodding, and he stood slowly, keeping her cradled in his arms.

"You'll have to have some with mini-marshmallows."

"Miniature marshmallows?" He beamed, voice suddenly booming into the gym. "A brilliant invention! I will not rest happy until I have tried them!"

"Thor?" She whispered as he headed into the elevator.

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

He smiled, pressing another kiss to her hair before he chuckled, soft and low. "You are most welcome, Princess."

* * *

 _I think most people would turn to puddles if an Asgardian prince called them princess..._


End file.
